


With Or Without You

by FrameofMind



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrameofMind/pseuds/FrameofMind
Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same...





	

 

_Now_

Passport, phone, ticket.

Kame checks them again, but they’re still there in the front pocket of his bag, just like they were five minutes ago. And ten minutes before that. He pulls the baseball cap a little lower over his face and glances around again, just to see, check for phones or stares or hidden whispers. He can’t remember the last time he left the country without a manager in tow—might not even have been able to pull it off now, if it weren’t for the hiatus.

But there’s no one looking at him. He’s found a quiet corner at the gate, surrounded by a bunch of middle-aged salarymen who don’t give him a second look, and so far no one seems to have noticed.

He feels like shit.

It’s nothing new—he’s been feeling like this for the past three weeks. Ever since Jin stopped answering his calls. Three weeks, and he can’t think about anything else. This is not how this was supposed to work.

But, whatever, he has his passport and his ticket, and he has a couple of scripts in the duffel at his feet, and no fucking way is he going to be able to concentrate on anything useful like reading during the flight, but—hey, they’re there. You never know.

He checks his phone again too—no messages, no surprise, but he opens up the notes app, flicks to the one on top of the list.

3468.

Still there too. Good.

Gonna be a long flight.

+~+~+~+~+

_Then_

It’s dark in the closet. Close and hot, full of wires and shit that could kill them if they make a wrong move, but even Kame’s not paying attention to that. The air is full of hisses and fuck yous, fucking asshole, control freak, never get your shit together on time, god, _fuck_ you…

There are too many layers in the way, and bits of fur from Jin’s costume keep ending up in Kame’s mouth, but he doesn’t even care when he feels Jin straining against him, fingers tight in Kame’s hair, still swearing in low, desperate moans, not really at Kame.

He’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants Jin right then. With the opening music starting up and the crowd cheering in the distance, they might miss their cue—but Kame can’t leave until he makes Jin come, feels him crumble.

_Fuck_ , Kame thinks. _Fuck_.

+~+~+~+~+

Jin never asks questions. He doesn’t ask permission either, doesn’t seem to see the need. It sneaks up on Kame day by day, as Jin’s clothes start accumulating in his apartment and Jin’s shaving lotion takes up space on the bathroom shelf, and Jin’s soft breath next to him becomes something he just expects when he wakes up at five for a photoshoot, or when he falls into bed at two.

Jin is just…there. Always.

They never really talked about it. What this is, what it should be. Kame doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to ask the questions either, doesn’t like the answers. Whenever he catches himself watching Jin sleep, letting it sink in just a little, all the answers he knows to the questions they never ask, it pools thick and dark somewhere deep, and never really seems to go away.

It’s just there. Always.

For Jin, it’s different. Jin plays his music too loud, writes songs that aren’t for them, sits too close to the TV with his macaroni and cheese cooing over puppies and babies and cute little families, crawls into bed and puts Kame’s hand in his hair like a cat demanding to be petted and he just…doesn’t seem to notice. Never does the math.

Kame can’t do that.

+~+~+~+~+

Kame will never understand why Jin likes this place so much. It’s cramped and dark and always full of foreigners—well, okay, that bit is no mystery—and it’s hardly even good for dancing because the dance floor is too small. And anyway Jin and his crew are always holed up in one of the back rooms with bottle service and a few random westerners who are safely oblivious to who and what they are.

Not tonight though. Tonight it’s just Pi and Ryo, and a few others who’ve already left, judging by the leftover glasses and cigarette butts.

“Hey, look who’s here!”

It’s Ryo’s voice—Ryo’s hand clapping him on the shoulder before he’s even got the door closed all the way, dragging him further into the room. It’s quieter back here, the music muffled—darker and plusher and more private, smoke hanging in the air. Jin is sprawled across one of the white leather sofas with a pleasant flush on his cheeks and a glass in his hand. Yamapi is just getting up from the other couch, stretching and scratching at his mussed hair.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Jin says, smiling broadly, and it almost makes Kame lose his nerve again. “You said you’d be here like an hour ago.”

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should leave it, try again at the apartment. Somewhere else.

“Sorry,” Kame says, trying to smile back. “I just had…some things to deal with.”

“What are you drinking?” Ryo asks. “I’m heading to the bar.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Kame says.

“What?” Jin looks scandalized. “Screw that, bring him a Lagavulin, rocks.”

“Jin, I really don’t—”

His eyes catch on Pi for a moment, who’s looking at him. Looking on quietly, like he knows something’s up. He doesn’t seem as drunk as the other two, and when Kame holds his eyes for a moment, he seems to understand.

“I’m fine,” Kame finishes, to Jin again. “Seriously, I don’t want anything.”

“I’m going to grab another gin and tonic,” Pi says, giving Kame another little look. Just for a moment. “Come on, Ryo, let’s make it a field trip.”

Kame gets that sinking feeling again as Pi throws an arm around Ryo’s shoulders and leads him away, as they’re left alone in the dim. Just like every other time he’s tried this week, and last week, and the week before. Over dinner, over breakfast. On the phone, in the shower. There’s nowhere, nothing, never the right time. There is no right time for this.

Jin sits forward on the couch lighting another cigarette, sifting through the glasses on the table for one that’s not empty yet. Kame wishes he didn’t look so happy. Not that he wants Jin to be miserable, but that—it just makes it worse. That Jin doesn’t see.

And that’s it, that’s exactly it. Jin doesn’t see. Kame shouldn’t even have to _do_ this, Jin should be the one…

“What’s up with you?” Jin says, peering up at him curiously. His eyes are a little clearer now, a little suspicious, noticing the space between Kame and the couch. The way he stands, the jacket he’s still wearing. It’s plenty warm in here, but Kame isn’t staying.

“Jin,” Kame says on a low breath. Just say it, get it over with. It won’t get any easier. “We need to talk.”

Jin’s eyes narrow further, cigarette sinking. “What?”

Kame swallows. “Come on, Jin. We both knew this…this wasn’t going to work. As a permanent thing. We can’t just keep going like this forever.”

“… _What?_ ”

It’s that devastated, angry look that really gets to him.

Jin leans forward and scrubs his fingers into his hair, elbows on his knees, face hidden. Kame feels a horrible urge to sit down next to him and put his arms around him, but he can’t do that. It wouldn’t help. He can’t.

He keeps his hands in his pockets.

“You’re doing this _now_?” Jin spits out. His voice is a little bit thick, and Kame’s throat feels dry, his blood cold.

“I don’t know when else…” he tries, but it sounds lame and helpless no matter how he puts it. “I thought it would be better. Before you leave for California, I thought it would be better. To have a clean break.”

“Fuck you.”

It rattles him, how raw that sounds. But he won’t give in. This is the right thing. It will hurt now, but in the end it will be better. He knows it will be better.

“Jin, you know I’m right. I’m sorry, and I know it sucks, but you _know_. What you want this to be… It can’t be that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Jin challenges, kicking the table. It moves forward an inch, knocks over a couple of empty glasses.

Kame gives him a look. “Akanishi…”

“You don’t even give enough of a shit to try?” Jin says, his eyes look red, angry or sad, or maybe that’s the same thing. “Just like that? No discussion, no nothing, just ‘bye’?”

“Don’t act like this is easy for me.”

“Well you sure make it sound fucking easy!”

“I am not what you want, Jin,” Kame grits out, and his throat goes tight with the words. He swallows it down. He will not lose his shit—not here. It won’t make things any easier. “We can talk all you like, but it won’t change anything and you know it. I can’t be what you want. No matter what we say, no matter how I feel, I can never, ever, _ever_ give you what you want. Do you understand that?”

Jin stares back at him. It’s there—he knows it too, he just won’t accept it. “Maybe I don’t need that…”

“You do though,” Kame says, quietly. Kame should know—he’s spent plenty of time trying to convince himself otherwise. But then Jin’s face when Kame’s niece comes to visit, or when they pass the little rows of houses on their way out of town, mothers playing with their children in the sun—he can’t do that. He can’t be the reason that never happens for Jin.

“But I need you too.”

Kame shrugs, a small, helpless gesture. “You can’t have both.”

Jin is quiet again. Kame can see his last few arguments defeating themselves one by one.

“So it’s really over?” he asks finally, his voice very soft, a little bit raw.

Kame can’t make himself answer. He just nods.

+~+~+~+~+

_Now_

The engines hum through the plane’s hull. Kame’s got his noise-canceling headphones on and he’s stretched out in his little pod near the front of the plane, but he can still hear it. Feels the rumbling through the seat cushions. He’s got a movie on, some heartfelt drama about a mother and daughter, but he isn’t able to pay attention. His eyes keep wandering away from the screen with his thoughts.

There’s a little girl standing in the aisle in black leggings, a gudetama sweatshirt and bright pink socks. She’s been walking up and down every few minutes or so, sometimes accompanied by a woman who looks like a taller, wearier version of her. She’s down at the far end at the moment though, and Kame watches her grip the edge of her mother’s pod wall and hang from it, swinging her butt back and forth as she talks to the woman inside.

She reminds him of his niece. She was a little bundle of energy at that age too.

Eventually a hand reaches out from the pod and tugs on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, pulling her back inside and urging her to settle.

Kame turns back to his movie, where the daughter is yelling at the mother again. You just don’t understand, act like you own me, never care about what I want…something like that.

+~+~+~+~+

_Then_

The phone rings as Kame is scraping the last of the onions into the skillet. He glances around for the handset—it’s not in the cradle by the toaster. There, over by the speaker—he turns the burner all the way down, the music too, and wipes his hands on the dishcloth by the sink.

“Hello?” Kame says, tucking the phone against his shoulder. He’s still scrubbing the cloth between his fingers, there’s something sticky on the back of his knuckle.

Silence. Kame frowns and opens his mouth to try again.

“Hi.”

Jin.

Kame stops.

He sets the dishcloth down on the counter and shifts to lean against it, takes the phone in hand again. They haven’t talked. They haven’t talked since—Kame’s not even sure when. It must be over a year now, maybe two. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Akanishi?” he says.

“Yeah.” Jin clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, I thought your number might have… But, yeah. How are you?”

“I’m…I’m good,” Kame says. It’s strange, just the sound of his voice, the way it throws him off balance like this. It’s not like they agreed not to speak, they just…didn’t. It seemed easier somehow.

Two years. It must be two years, but suddenly it feels like longer.

“How about you?”

There’s another silence, and Kame starts to wonder if something is wrong. Maybe that’s why—out of the blue like this…

“I’m getting married,” Jin says quietly.

Kame’s heart beats heavy in his chest. Just a dull thud.

_Oh. Oh…_

“I…wanted to tell you. I thought you should…I wanted you to know. I guess.”

Kame nods dimly, swallowing. His throat sticks to itself all the way down. He wants a glass of water, but his hands feel numb. His wine is just there by the stove, but he doesn’t pick it up. He’s a little afraid he’d empty the glass.

He just stands there until he can speak again.

“Anyone I know?” he asks, a lame attempt at lightness.

There’s a little pause on the other end of the line.

“Kuroki Meisa.”

Oh. Well, that… It’s almost funny, really. If he were someone else, he would laugh.

As it is, he just nods. “I see. That’s…”

“She’s… We’re going to have a kid. In September. She’s due in September.”

There’s a flinch somewhere deep, but…it’s not important. Just an old scar. It’s not like it’s a big surprise. Just…maybe sooner than he thought. “You don’t waste any time.”

Two years…

“No,” Jin says. “I guess not.”

The silence stretches again.

Kame knows he should let him go.

Jin seems to be waiting. But what for? Kame can’t give him what he wants. He’s not even sure what that is anymore. What he could still have that Jin wants. Jin has a wife and a baby on the way. That’s how this was supposed to go. That’s _why_.

“I’m happy for you,” he says, because it’s the right thing to say, and he needs the practice. Maybe if he says it to himself enough times, it will start to be true.

“Thank you.”

There’s a little more silence.

“You’re happy, right?” Kame asks.

He can’t be sure, but he thinks he hears a little intake of breath on the other end of the line. It’s so quiet.

“Yes,” Jin says after a long moment. “Yeah. I’m very happy.”

Kame closes his eyes and holds onto that, even though he feels something burning in his chest. Something not fair, and he won’t let it win. Jin is happy. This is the way things are supposed to be.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs.

They say goodbye then, and Kame lets the phone sink to the countertop. For a little while he just stares into space, the burn in his chest gradually crawling up the sides of his throat, along his arms, into the pit of his stomach, into the space behind his eyes. When he can’t stand it anymore, he snatches the cooking magazine off the counter in a crumpled handful and flings it against the opposite wall. It doesn’t help.

His hands are shaking. He wants to slam doors and break things, it’s not _fair_ , he thought he was past this. It was supposed to get easier.

Married.

He sits down on the floor, slumped against the cabinet and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to make the burn go away. There’s nothing he can do. There was never anything he could do. That’s what makes it so hard.

It’s right. It’s right. Jin is happy. That’s what Kame wanted. For Jin to be happy.

Kame can’t be happy.

He knows he must look like some lonely pathetic mess sitting here on the floor when it’s not even like he’s lost anything. He never had it. He gave it away, years ago. Even if he had it to do over, there’s nothing he could have done differently.

It’s so _unfair_.

There’s nothing else he can do, and there’s no one here to see him anyway. So he just sits here and breathes, tries not to think, tries not to wonder if it could have been different. If he’d been braver, maybe, or more selfish. If he had had more to give.

Jin will be happy.

+~+~+~+~+

_Now_

A little old lady steps out of the tiny airplane restroom and Kame takes her place. It’s cramped and bright. There’s noise in the walls, rumbling and vibrating—reminds him of darker tight spaces, tighter still when they were pressed up against each other. They never tried that on a plane somehow. Even with all the touring, they probably only actually flew together once or twice. It was always trains, except to Hokkaido. Or Okinawa.

As he’s washing his hands, he catches his own reflection in the mirror—harsh angles at this hour, the light highlights every blemish. He feels tired and he looks it. It’s not even the plane—he’s barely slept in days.

They’re over halfway there now and he still can’t sleep, but he doesn’t really expect to. Maybe after they land, once he’s done what he needs to do. Maybe then it will get easier.

+~+~+~+~+

_Then_

Something clatters off the shelf and the floor rumbles with the music from the arena, the cheers of the crowd, the thudding bass, and Kame shoves his hand down the back of Jin’s pants, pulls him closer, The metal shelves rattle against the wall, and something else falls, a can and maybe a mop, but Jin’s hands are in Kame’s hair, and there’s nothing but the music. Sweat and breath and Jin and music.

“Let me,” Jin mumbles, teeth scraping Kame’s lips, fingers fumbling for his fly, and Kame feels that swoop and pull, feels the blood rush, feels the music in the walls. Jin slips from his fingers, drops to his knees, and Kame gropes for the shelf behind him, for Jin’s tangled hair in front of him, and then it’s hot. All around him, Jin’s mouth, he can just see it in the dim light from the exit sign, but he knows it—this he knows.

“Fuck,” he breathes out when Jin sucks, curls his tongue just like that, his fingertips digging into Kame’s hips. Kame knows he must be hard too, knows he’s kneeling there on the concrete wanting it, wanting it like Kame’s wanted it for fucking ages.

Not long. He doesn’t last, can’t, pushes into Jin’s mouth when he gets close, and Jin moans around him when he hits the back, and that’s it, fuck, just that, _yes_ …

It leaves him shaking, knees weak, and fingers. Jin stays while Kame catches his breath, doesn’t let go of him when he slips off. Just stays there on his knees, breathing hard, looking up at Kame like…god, and his mouth…

Kame bends down and kisses it. Hard, with everything he has and everything he wants, with the music that isn’t theirs this time, but of course it would be that. Of course it would be here, where it all comes apart. Where it started.

“Kame,” Jin says, small and a little rough, and Kame’s knees hit the floor a little too hard when he joins him, wraps arms around him. Jin melts like he always did, feels so good like _always_ , and how has it been four fucking years when everything feels exactly the same.

He tugs at Jin’s belt, and Jin whimpers and grabs on tighter, like he thinks Kame’s just going to fucking leave, but that’s not even possible—Kame’s not going anywhere, can’t. Couldn’t if he wanted to.

“Kame,” he shudders out again when Kame finds his way inside Jin’s boxers, and this he knows too, knows just how to make him shudder harder, say Kame’s name again, buck into Kame’s grip even though Kame’s got him trapped and there’s nowhere to go. “Please. Oh god please…”

Kame grabs a handful of Jin’s hair and pulls his head back, away, latches onto Jin’s throat as he lets him have it. They’d all hear, every one of them out there if the music weren’t so loud. Jin was never good at keeping quiet, not like this.

Sticky, shivery. Sweaty in the dark, they’re a fucking mess now. They can’t even check properly, there’s no light in this closet, and Kame doesn’t know this backstage well—where the actual restroom is from here, he has no idea. He just—Jin went, and he followed. He didn’t have an escape plan. He usually has an escape plan. He used to, always.

Jin is curling around him, shivering and nuzzling his face into the crook of Kame’s neck, and Kame can’t…can’t push him away just yet, can’t point out the obvious. Can’t ask questions. He wraps an arm around Jin’s shoulder too, the other curling around underneath his half-off sweatshirt, and keeps him close. He can smell himself on Jin’s cheek, can feel Jin’s hot breath against his ear, and it’s been so long since he’s been this tangled up.

Maybe they can just stay.

Lie low in here, or whatever, wait until the arena clears out and the crew are shutting things down for the night and then slip out the back. Jin’s got friends out there who will miss him. Kame came alone.

Jin’s hands are stroking over Kame’s back, slowly, fingertips tracing Kame’s shoulderblades through his shirt. He left his jacket out there too. He doesn’t need it here.

“Do we have to go back?” Jin mumbles. He still sounds a bit hoarse, and it makes Kame’s mouth go dry, makes him remember.

“You tell me,” Kame says. It falls harder than he means it. The way Jin stills—Kame can feel him thinking, feel the pause in his fingertips, like he’s actually considering… Like he’s _thinking_.

Thinking is dangerous here.

“You go first,” Kame says, easing him back, gently but firmly. There’s a little bit of resistance in Jin’s arms, and he tries to meet Kame’s eyes, tries to rope him in on the thinking—but Kame can’t do that right now. Neither of them can, not when they’re like _this_ and Jin is…and everything. And there are people outside. People with cameras and memories and twitter accounts.

Jin still hasn’t moved. When Kame looks at him, he finds Jin staring back at him—not angry or conflicted, not even disappointed, just…something. Quiet and knowing, like back then, when Jin could read his mind.

But he can’t anymore. Kame is pretty sure.

“I need to find a men’s room,” Kame says, as if that’s the answer Jin is looking for.

It’s not. But it’s the best Kame’s got right now.

“I’ll go first,” Jin relents.

Just as Kame is settling back, giving Jin space to maneuver, Jin snakes one hand around the back of Kame’s neck and tugs him close again, lips firm and demanding, daring Kame to pull away.

“You follow,” he breathes. And then Kame is in freefall again.

+~+~+~+~+

_Now_

The whiskey helps. It’s nothing spectacular, whatever blend the flight attendant was handing out—but it’s calming his nerves and easing the uncomfortable tingle of sleeplessness out from beneath his skin. He’s curled up on his side in the pod with a book, and he’s reading words and sentences. Occasionally he even absorbs their meaning.

Mostly he thinks of Jin.

Nothing in particular, really, just images and impressions. His face, his voice. What his skin feels like in the dark, the way he shivers when it’s too cold. That habit he has of mumbling a question juuust before Kame manages to drift off to sleep. The way he smiles when Kame does something that makes him happy.

Used to, anyway.

Eventually his vision gets blurry and the kanji melt into one another. Kame’s not sure when he closes his eyes.

+~+~+~+~+

_Then_

Jin moans again, hips pushing back against Kame’s. His thighs are trembling, tension in his arms where they’re braced against the headboard, keeping him upright. The sweat drips from Kame’s hair, but he keeps a firm grip on Jin’s hips, keeps pushing, the angle just right, just deep enough to keep him shivering, keep him swearing, harder, more.

It doesn’t take much after that. Jin gives a sharp jerk when Kame takes him in hand, just lightly at first until Jin pushes into it, and back again. Kame tightens his grip on Jin’s hip and presses his lips together to keep himself under control, tries not to focus on the way Jin keeps tightening up, everything straining.

Just a few sold flicks of his wrist and Jin is there, shaking, slowing to a stop.

Kame holds him still and lets him shiver. Lets him catch his breath.

After a long shudder, Jin slumps down to rest his elbows on top of the headboard and wriggles a bit in Kame’s grip, tilts his hips back just so.

It’s all he needs. Kame finds his grip again and shifts them, finds the angle he wants. Jin just goes, stays braced against the wall and lets Kame put him where he needs him. When Kame starts moving, starts pushing in, he feels Jin’s muscles tighten around him and it drags a groan from his throat.

It’s such a perfect sight, the sweat rolling down Jin’s back, licking his spine, the way he spreads his knees further when Kame nudges at them, pushes back more, and his hair sticks to the back of his neck in a way that makes Kame want to pull it, yank him up and see Jin’s face when Kame is inside him, when Kame just made him come.

There’s a deep pull, the tight, the curve of Jin’s back, Jin’s ass, and it’s so good, so fucking good, he can’t—he can’t even—

He’s loud—probably louder than he should’ve been, who knows who’s in the next suite. It just keeps coming, in waves, little tingles all the way out from his groin to his brain to his fingertips. He keeps Jin pulled tight against him until the last wave, fingers slipping with the sweat. Then he sinks forward against Jin’s back, pressing him into the wall again and wrapping arms around his middle, spreading fingers across his chest.

“You,” Kame says into Jin’s shoulderblades, still trying to catch his breath, “are a really amazing fuck.”

Jin huffs a breath into his arms.

With a little fumbling of knees and hands, Kame pulls out and deals with the condom, lets Jin get his legs underneath him again. Kame can feel the ache in his muscles as he walks over to the bathroom and cleans himself up.

Jin is sprawled out with a cigarette by the time he gets back. He’s taking up most of the bed, no particular side, and his hair is a dark mess against the scrunched white pillowcase. Kame wipes the jizz off the headboard with a corner of a damp washcloth and then offers the rest to Jin. Jin mumbles his thanks as he takes it.

Kame steals a cigarette from the pack Jin left on the nightstand. The lighter is there too, and he flicks it on, takes a careful drag until it catches. Jin politely folds an arm behind his head to leave Kame enough space to settle himself on the bed, slumped against the pillows with his legs outstretched.

After a while, Kame glances over to find Jin looking at him. Steady and thoughtful, with a little bit of a frown between his brows.

“What?” Kame says.

Jin glances away. “Nothing,” he says, and flicks his cigarette over the ashtray on his nightstand.

Kame narrows eyes at him. He hates it when Jin does that, makes him feel like he’s done something wrong and then won’t tell him what it is. Jin’s not looking at him anymore, but he’s still got that little wrinkle above his nose, that little pout at the corners of his lips.

But, fine. Whatever. Kame won’t play that game. If Jin has something to say, he can say it. If not, that’s fine too, and it’s not Kame’s problem.

It’s better that way.

“Is that all I am to you?”

It’s quiet, but it’s not hesitant. Just thoughtful, like Jin is weighing the words. Weighing the thought.

“Is what all you are?” Kame says. He keeps it steady, calm like Jin. Feels the smoke in his lungs and in the air and tries not to let it get to him.

“A good fuck.”

Kame looks over at him. Jin looks back. His eyes are dark and liquid, slightly accusing in that way only Jin’s can be.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kame says, even as it twists inside him.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Jin says, and nods toward him with his chin. “Look at you.”

“What?”

“Over there.” Jin gestures at Kame’s legs under the sheet, well away from Jin’s. “You can touch me afterwards you know. I’m not your whore.”

“I _know_ you’re not my whore.”

“Well you don’t act like it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not _paying_ you, you’re here because you want to be—and fuck you anyway, I thought you were the one who liked games.”

“I like games when they’re games. Not when they’re just you being an asshole.”

“I’m an asshole because I don’t hold you afterwards?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not how this works, Jin.”

“I know. And it _sucks_.”

“You seemed pretty okay with it a few minutes ago.”

“I know,” Jin says, glaring up at the smoke. “That’s why it sucks.”

Kame takes another drag of his cigarette. Somewhere far below them just a few blocks away there are karaoke bars and restaurants, a crowded street full of people. Kame didn’t see any of them on the way in and can’t hear any of them now, but he can see the lights in the distance through the window, a white glow peeking out between the dark buildings here and there. Sometimes it’s strange, when he thinks about it. How many people he fails to see on a day to day basis. Too busy making sure they don’t see him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Jin says.

It’s soft, almost a plea. Like Kame can change the fact that they have to sneak around, meeting in hotel rooms in random parts of town so no one sees them in the same place twice. Pretending they never see each other at all.

Like Kame wouldn’t change it if he could.

“Of course I do,” Kame sighs.

“So?” Jin glances over at him. He looks expectant.

“So what?” Kame says. “What, Jin? What do you want?”

“I want more,” Jin says. “From you.”

Kame swallows. “We’ve talked about this—”

“ _You’ve_ talked about this,” Jin says, sitting up and stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I still think you’re full of shit.”

“You’re married.”

“That’s debatable, and also not the point.”

“Then _what_ ,” Kame says, getting irritated now too. “I don’t know what you want. You want me to be in love with you? That’s not fair, and you fucking know it.”

“You think this is fair to me?” Jin snaps at him. “You think _any_ of this is what I wanted? I tried to do it your way, and look where that got us—right back here with the same fucking problem, and you still don’t see it.” He swipes his hair out of his eyes and glares around the room, looking for agreement from the walls.

“Okay, fine,” Kame says. He’s sick of this shit—Jin says _he_ doesn’t see things. Fuck that. “So let’s say we do it your way instead. We turn back the clock and pretend it never happened—you never get married and you never have kids, and we keep sneaking around and fucking in storage closets, and I hold you afterwards because I love you. Then what? Where does that get us? Would you be happy then?”

Jin is quiet. He’s still glaring at the walls—lets out a rough sigh, but no words come out.

“I didn’t think so,” Kame says.

They’re silent for a long time. Nothing but the shadows and the smoke, and the dim white glow in the distance.

Kame smokes the last of his cigarette and stubs it out.

Jin just stares silently.

There are cracks in his face. Something hard and brittle underneath the surface. Kame isn’t sure why he’s never noticed that before—maybe he just wasn’t looking. He never looks anymore, never wants to see too much, feel too much. But it’s there, and Kame can’t stop looking at him now that he’s noticed. He’s almost tempted to reach out a hand and stroke it through Jin’s hair. He would have, once.

He can’t.

“Let me blow you,” Jin says after a bit. It’s sort of flat, like the look in his eyes.

Kame blinks. “What?”

“I want your hands on me,” Jin says, like a negotiation, like he’s quoting prices. Resigned. “I want you to hold me. You can fuck me again if you want. Or I can blow you.”

Kame falters. He’s not even sure exactly why it sounds wrong, it’s why they’re _here_ —just, something in Jin’s tone. It feels off.

“I’m good,” Kame says. “I don’t need it right now.”

“I do though,” Jin says. He sinks to the mattress again and rolls toward Kame. Kame twitches when Jin’s hand skims over his knee, fingers curling along his inner thigh. He can feel Jin’s breath on his hip, but Jin isn’t looking at him. “If that’s all I can have, then I want that. We’ll do it your way, no fuss. Just pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“Whatever you need to,” Jin says. “Pretend I’m someone else, someone you can care about. Pretend I’m your whore. I don’t care, okay—you win. Just put your hands on me. Just this once.”

Jin’s hand wraps around him then, and Kame shivers hard. It’s almost cold, numb, that touch. He’s not even sure why it’s working—the whole thing feels sour and desaturated, like watching bad porn in a cheap hotel room. He doesn’t feel aroused, but Jin gets him hard anyway, and Kame doesn’t stop him. He’s not sure if he even should.

Then Jin goes down on him, and Kame can’t hold in the shudder.

Jin knows, everything he knows, just how to move and use his tongue. He pushes Kame’s thighs apart to give himself more room, but keeps Kame’s leg pressed against his shoulder. After a couple of up and downs he reaches out and grabs Kame’s hand, puts it in his hair insistently. His side of the bargain, right, and Kame combs his fingers through the dark tangles, clutches at them when Jin sucks back harder. He can feel the movement even more now, warm against his hand, the way it makes his fingers tingle, numb too, and the little sounds from Jin’s throat when Kame’s fingertips brush the shell of his ear. Jin’s legs twitch under the covers, and Kame wonders if he’s getting hard too or just trying to squirm closer.

It doesn’t build quickly—every time Kame feels it coming Jin seems to pull it back, slow down to a tease, a lick that keeps him on the edge but never there. After a while he can’t even feel the cold anymore, all he can feel is the need, the need for Jin, Jin is the only one, the only thing…god, he _needs_ …

“Please, just,” Kame chokes out, hips trying to follow as Jin draws out to the tip again. His fingers clench in Jin’s hair and he just wants to thrust up, take Jin’s mouth, but Jin’s hands are on his hips, keeping him there. He looks down, vision blurred with how much he needs, and finds Jin looking back at him like he knows. Knows, exactly.

_Now you know how I feel._

Then Jin reaches up and untangles Kame’s fingers from his hair, brings Kame’s hand down and wraps it around his dick. He’s still there, doesn’t move away—just leans up far enough so that they’re not really touching anymore.

“Fuck you,” Kame breathes, but Jin just looks back at him with a challenge in his eyes, and Kame’s hand is already moving, _fuck_ Jin, who cares, he just needs…

He can feel Jin’s eyes on him everywhere, feel everywhere that they don’t touch. His eyes slip closed just before he comes, and all the breath leaves his body when Jin suddenly presses in, kisses his mouth, swallows his moans, Kame’s knuckles pressing against Jin’s stomach.

Kame’s untrapped hand finds its way into Jin’s hair and clings. Keeps him close. Closer.

Suddenly he can’t seem to let go.

+~+~+~+~+

Jin doesn’t stay the night. Sometime after Kame falls asleep, Jin collects his things and slips out of the hotel room. By morning there’s no sign of him at all except the creases in the mattress and the condom in the wastebasket.

Kame isn’t sure what to make of what happened, the way things played out. At first he tries not to think of it much at all, but somehow his thoughts keep circling back again and again. Jin’s mouth and Jin’s hands, the warmth he tries not to feel when they’re together. The ache for things he shouldn’t need, shouldn’t want anymore.

_I want more from you._

On Tuesday evening Kame gets out of a photoshoot around seven. He’s got time, tries to reach Jin on his cell phone to see if he’s around, but he doesn’t get an answer. He leaves a voicemail instead, asks Jin to give him a call when he gets a chance.

A week goes by with no response, and Kame tries again on Thursday night when he’s pretty sure Jin is usually home. He leaves another voicemail.

When he calls again a week after that, the line is out of service.

+~+~+~+~+

_Now_

The flight lands at LAX at 11:23 a.m., and Kame is exhausted. He didn’t manage more than a doze, couldn’t stop going over what he wanted to say, what he’s doing, whether he’s out of his mind. Failing to take the hint. He stands at the baggage carousel for ten minutes before he realizes he’s not waiting for anything. Then he has to find his way through all the English and the humans to the taxi stand. He tries to tell the driver where he wants to go, but his brain is shot from lack of sleep, and in the end he just shows the guy the address on his phone and tries to look helpless. The guy nods and mumbles something agreeable, and Kame sinks back into the seat and closes his eyes.

When they pull into the public parking area outside the complex, the driver asks him a question—something about the front gate, the road, which direction from here maybe?—but Kame waves him off, tells him to let him out here and holds up his wallet to ask him what he owes. There’s a bit of fumbling with the bills, but eventually Kame is standing on the sidewalk with his duffel slung over his shoulder, getting his bearings.

There’s a long row of condos all along the beachfront. Across from them is a winding stone path that runs through the landscaped island between one row of condos and the next. Kame keeps checking the number on his phone against the house numbers as he walks, watching them count up from 2000 to 3000 and catching little glimpses of the ocean through an occasional gap.

3468.

He stops. Checks the number again, and the note in his phone. Glances both ways before he steps out across the road, walks up the driveway and the short set of stairs leading to the door. He checks the number again just to be _sure_ , blinks a bit to see the phone screen in the sunlight.

He rings the doorbell.

There are soft sounds from within, something shifting and thumping, but it all seems muffled and far away. He doesn’t hear footsteps, just silence after that—so when the door opens it almost takes him by surprise.

Jin blinks at him, frowning a little. His hair is mussed on one side like maybe he’s been sleeping, and suddenly Kame wonders what time it is, if it’s too—but, no. It’s after noon, Kame can’t have woken him. Or…well, he might have, it’s Jin, but not…yeah. It’s probably fine.

“What are you doing here?” Jin says, still blinking and squinting a bit in the sun.

It’s funny. All the time Kame has spent trying to figure this out, get his shit together and get over here, figure out how to make Jin understand…but, that. That question, he’s not sure he has an answer to. Not a good one, anyway.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls,” he says finally, and feels like an idiot.

Jin is still looking sort of confused and disoriented, keeps looking over Kame’s shoulder like he thinks there must be someone else coming. Like Johnny or Meisa or Nakamaru is going to pop out of the bushes and explain why Kame is here better than either of them can. “Why would you… How did you even find me?”

“Meisa,” Kame says, with a bit of an apology. “I…when your phone line got turned off, I was worried. She told me where you were.”

“What did she tell you?” Jin presses, frowning a little.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just your address. She said you came here to get away.”

Jin’s shoulders relax a little bit at that, and there’s a wry twitch at the corner of his mouth. He glances around at the yard again, and then back into the house, like he’s trying to figure out some complicated logistical problem. When he looks at Kame, Kame sees him notice the duffle slung across his back. Jin doesn’t comment. Doesn’t seem to feel he can turn Kame away either, though Kame can’t quite tell if he wants to or not.

“Come on in,” Jin says, and leaves the door open as he turns away, walks back into the house.

Kame steps inside and takes his shoes off in the narrow entryway, closes the door and drops his duffel on the hardwood below an empty coatrack. He can hear Jin rustling around somewhere just around the corner and follows the sound towards an open kitchen that looks out on the dining and living room area, which in turn looks out over the beach.

Jin has two bottles of Corona on the counter and he’s prying the caps off with a bottle opener. He hands the first one to Kame as he comes into the kitchen. When he’s got the second one open as well, he leans back against the refrigerator and takes a deep drink.

Kame is a little bit too jetlagged and sleep deprived for any more alcohol at the moment, but the cool tastes good, and the weight of it in his hands makes it easier not to fidget. Easier to pretend he hasn’t just flown six thousand miles in lieu of a voicemail.

“I’m sorry,” Jin says, fiddling his beer bottle a bit. Looking down at the trails his fingertips make in the condensation. “For last time, I didn’t… Just. If I was an asshole, I’m sorry.”

Kame swallows. “Me too.”

Jin nods a bit, but he doesn’t press the subject any further. He doesn’t ask again why Kame is here. Just takes another sip of his beer and glances over toward the beachfront.

“I tried to call you,” Kame says. “A few times, I tried—I left voicemails.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just—like she said, I needed to get away for a while. I needed some space.”

The phrase sends a little prickle up the back of Kame’s neck. Jin doesn’t even say it like it means anything in particular, but Kame can’t help feeling like it does.

He leans back against the counter and wraps both hands around his beer. He would drink more just for the cold, but his stomach is starting to feel the lack of sleep and the lack of answers and the lack of Jin. It’s only been three weeks, and they’ve gone years before, but this is different somehow. This is more.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” Kame says, keeping his voice even and his hands steady. “About what happened. And I thought we should talk.”

Jin looks pained and runs a hand through his hair. “Kame, seriously, if you came all the way to Malibu just to make sure I don’t have any lingering illusions about what this is, you could have saved the airfare.”

“I didn’t,” Kame says. He sets his beer down on the counter, wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s not as simple as that. I just… I thought we should talk.”

Jin peers at him. He looks wary, but at least a little bit less inclined to find some excuse to escape. “Okay,” he says. “I’m listening.”

Good. That’s…good. That’s better than that could have gone. It would be nice if Jin didn’t look like he was expecting the next thing out of Kame’s mouth to piss him off—but, whatever, house-crashers can’t be choosers.

“You were right,” Kame says. “About some of it, you were… I didn’t realize. What I was doing to you. That I was doing to you the exact same thing I thought you were going to do to me.”

Jin frowns up at him. “What did you think I was going to do to you?”

Kame opens his mouth to try to explain, but it’s just—it’s a feeling more than a thing, this dark, messy rumble underneath everything. Every time Jin smiled it made him hurt inside, felt like doom descending, even back then—especially back then.

Jin made him happier than anyone, and that made him miserable.

“Leave me,” he says, quietly. It sounds simpler out loud.

Jin blinks at him. “Are you fucking crazy?”

Kame presses his lips together. “Maybe,” he says. “You tell me.”

Jin huffs a small breath. He glares around the kitchen, muscle jumping in his jaw. Then he shakes his head and sets his beer down on the counter, just walks out of the kitchen without a word.

Kame watches him cross the living room, open the glass door and walk out onto the porch. When he gets to the railing, Jin scrubs his hands into his hair and turns his face up toward the sky, t-shirt ruffling in the breeze.

Okay, that’s…okay.

Kame puts his own beer down on the counter as well and crosses to the glass door. Just stays there for a minute, lets Jin have his space. He’s leaning against the railing now, staring out across the sea. After a minute he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack—crumples it up and throws it in the ashtray when it turns out to be empty.

Kame pushes the door open and steps outside.

“Jin?” he says quietly, staying near the door.

“Don’t,” Jin says. His hands are pressed against the railing again and his voice sounds a little strained. “I’m trying really hard not to punch you right now.”

Kame nods. “Okay,” he says.

Jin is silent for a bit longer.

“What the fuck makes you think I would leave you?” he growls. He’s still not looking at Kame.

Kame squints out toward the beach, trying to put thoughts together. It seemed obvious at the time. Enough that he never had to think about it. “I don’t know. I didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t. And you were marr—”

“For fucks sake, will you stop throwing that in my face? You know what the deal is with that now—it’s not like before.”

“I know,” Kame says. “But that’s not the point. It ties you to her—it doesn’t matter what your arrangement is, you’ve got this whole other life that I can’t be involved in, and it’s not like I can offer you anything…normal or _real_ or anything. Even if you left her, it would always be hidden, like this. I just couldn’t see you living with that.”

“So you left me with less.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes less is easier.”

Jin huffs a breath. “Fuck you.”

“What?”

“Fucking—” Jin pushes off the railing and turns toward him. “Look, just for the record, I never _asked_ you to come out of the closet. I never asked you to have babies or give up your career or tell the world about us. Do you get that? I never asked you for anything except yourself, just as you are, and you pushed me away. Because you _thought_ you knew what I wanted.”

“I wasn’t wrong though, was I?”

Jin shoots him a glare and paces away again, towards the end of the deck. But he doesn’t disagree.

Kame is getting a little pissed now himself. They can’t keep having this same argument over and over—it’s _done_. “I’m not going to take the blame for doing what was right for both of us back then, that was—it was different. You can keep on giving me shit for that if you want, but you know it was the right thing. What I am sorry about is the way things are now. Okay? I was trying to be fair to both of us, and it just…didn’t work out.”

“Fair. What the hell does fair mean?”

“ _Fair_ means you get to have your life and I get to have mine, and I don’t have to spend my whole life watching yours from the fucking sidelines. Asshole.”

Jin falls silent. His eyes change, a little of the anger draining away.

“Look, I know…” Kame starts. He’s in uneasy territory here, a bit—this isn’t really something he’s used to talking about. Especially with Jin. “I've known for a long time that…this is it for me. This is all I get. Even if I were straight I probably couldn't make the choice you did, give it all up and try to have the normal things—but with things the way they are it's not even really an option. I _know_ that. I will never have what you have. And that’s fine, I made my peace with that a long time ago, but…being with you sometimes, it just…makes me want things that aren’t possible.”

Jin stands still at the other end of the deck, looking uneasy.

“Oh,” he says. The fight’s gone out of him now, and Kame feels…relief is not quite the word, but maybe release. That Jin finally understands. Finally sees it through his eyes.

“I never even thought you wanted...that.”

“I didn't,” Kame says. “Not like you did. But the whole picture is just...you know. Sometimes I can't help wondering what it would be like.”

Jin frowns a little. Not angry anymore, just…lost. “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying…I’m sorry, I guess,” Kame says. “I was trying to protect myself, and I didn’t realize what that was doing to you. And I’m hoping…you’ll give me another chance. To do it right.”

“Do it right,” Jin repeats. “What exactly does that mean, do it right?”

“I don’t know,” Kame says. “It means…more, I guess. Maybe it just means we make it up as we go along. I already know walking away from you doesn’t work. And trying to keep things fair doesn’t work either.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Jin’s lips, and he ducks his head a bit. Glances out toward the sea.

“Get over here,” Jin says, nodding toward the railing.

Kame peers at him, not sure exactly what Jin wants him to do—but he wanders over and stands beside Jin at the railing. As soon as he’s in range, Jin reaches over and runs his hand down Kame’s arm, lacing their fingers together and drawing Kame’s hand up to his lips. There’s a little kiss against his knuckles—and then Jin’s hand brings it up higher, deposits Kame’s in his hair.

Ahh, Kame thinks as he takes the hint, running his fingers through Jin’s wind-tangled hair. It seems only natural to move closer.

“I’m a little out of practice,” Kame murmurs, looking Jin up and down. “How am I doing?”

Jin thinks for a moment, one arm settling around Kame’s waist to keep him close. “Acceptable,” he says. “You’ll get better. With practice.”

Kame nods and hums in agreement, and then Jin’s mouth is against his, and it’s slow and sweet, swaying in the breeze. It feels more precarious than it is up here, with the beach down below, waves crashing against the shore. Jin is swaying too, leaning against the railing, the back of his neck warm against Kame’s fingers and his mouth hot and soft and so familiar. It feels precarious, but maybe it won’t always.

Maybe that will get better too. With practice.

+~+~+~+~+

_Later_

Jin’s bed is very comfortable. They have the curtains drawn against the sunlight, but the quiet sounds of waves rolling against the shore still drift in.

Kame’s duffel bag is slumped in the corner near the closet, his jeans on the floor and his wallet on the nightstand. Jin is sprawled out across his chest with one leg hooked over his thigh and his hand underneath the hem of Kame’s t-shirt.

Kame’s fingers are in Jin’s hair, still where they were stroking until they drifted off. Jin breathes slow, soft, warm puffs of air into the crook of Kame’s neck, and mumbles occasionally. Almost like purring.

Kame sleeps.


End file.
